Simplicity

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He ironed linen towels:
pre-smoothed with his palms,
touching butterflies, sky, grass.
He did the same with napkins, where, for some reason,
cornflowers mixed with Peter's Whips*,
so called chicory.
He washed pots and cups made of porcelain and terracotta
in warm phosphate-free water:
watching as the foam disappeared into the sink.
At that point the clear understanding arrived -
life consists of simple things, they can not be avoided.
Dig the soil, plant a garden, sow grass lawns.
Water the dahlias, nasturtiums, chrysanthemums.
Pour gravel on the path leading to Rio Ros' there,
where viburnum and ash
and two maple sycamores stand alone.
To do all this here_and_now, now_and_always, with love,
as if this day is the last one.
He looked out the window in amazement, childishly
on a birch so golden,
shining like a bride, even in the mist.
He tastes coffee or tea,
watching the horse on the other river side,
and on his a cart stands,
almost like the one
which will appear in the sky at seven o'clock.
It's getting dark early. Night is coming.
The scents of flowers, leaves and smoke takes him away.

One might relate to life in every way,
but I'd better take care of it.

* Ukrainian name for chicory

12.58 20.06 2021
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© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2021